HERB CAEN -- Only Spring Training

Herb Caen

Published 4:00 am, Tuesday, March 12, 1996

1996-03-12 04:00:00 PDT Scottsdale, 'Zona -- TWO BASEBALL columns in a row? Brrrrrother. However, this will not turn into a three-part series, complete with pie charts, titled "Whither Baseball?" or "Is Baseball Back?" Nor have I been "on assignment," that wonderful journalistic euphemism for columnists who are goofing off. I have been just plain goofing off at spring training, like the players. If you don't think they're goofing off you should watch their "calisthenics." The ladies of the Diablo Valley Bridge & Tennis Club, fighting middle-age spread, work harder and even produce a little sweat -- pardon, "perspiration" -- under their sunblock.

But let's not be beastly about baseball players. Their "wind sprints" may be 10-yard dashes, after which they sink to the grass, gasping, but they aren't athletes in the usual sense. They're delicate creatures who pop a hamstring running to first base. What they have are special skills and terrific agents, and those skills must really be special, judging from the number of candidates at spring training who don't have them. The really good players are naturals, born with the gift. Spring training doesn't hurt them too much.

IF YOU'RE wondering about the "Scottsdale, 'Zona" dateline, " 'Zona" is what the really hip types call Arizona. I'm trying to be hep, at least. I was also cautioned by the cognescenti against using the "P-word." That's Phoenix. Everybody hates Phoenix, it seems. When I asked why, the usual reply was "What's to like?" An exec of the Arizona Cardinals pro football team elucidated a bit. "People never say they're going to Phoenix -- they say they're going to Arizona or Scottsdale. When people ask me where I'm from I say Arizona, even though I live in Phoenix." Thus does travel prove broadening, and I'm not talking about the portions at Don & Charlie's. However, when we arrived in, er, Scottsdale, the topics of conversation were Sun Bonds and Wall Street.

Sun Bonds are not what Arizona sells for civic improvements. Sun Bonds had just lost her divorce case against Barry Bonds, star of stars, and the Giants were jubilant. "If Sun had won," said one, "she'd have owned this team!" I didn't get that but everybody nodded. When I read a newspaper account of the divorce, it appeared that her lawyer, the fearsome Larry Stotter, had gone 0-for-4. "Barry is so relieved," said a front-office type. "This has to help his game," which doesn't need help. I don't know whether Stotter is appealing or not, but he's appealing anyway.

Wall Street was being talked about, especially among the retirees, because it dropped 171 points, and why? Because there was good news: Employment was up and that's bad. "This report was a shocker," said a senior analyst for a major stock 'n' bondage house. "The simple fact is that the economy is doing better than most people think." Oh damn and God bless America. Or maybe George Burns is God, after all. So long, George. You were big league for 100 years and deserve to be God.

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ANN AND I stayed at the Scottsdale Plaza, as usual, because that's where the Giants stay, supposedly. We started going there back in the Will Clark-Brett Butler era and never did see a ballplayer. Hank Greenwald once. The Scottsdale ballpark was a rickety old wooden job then and spring training was just catching on as A Thing To Do. Clark was a kick, running around with his cap off, so the fans could recognize him, and trading banter with them. He defined the little-kid joy of baseball, a rare ingredient. Barry Bonds is a superior talent, obviously, but he's aloof. I think he tries to fit into the scene as just one of the boys, but he isn't. There's a wall around him. Fortunately, he hits a lot of balls over it. The fans are smart, you know. Barry wants to be left alone, leave him alone (but he'd better deliver). The Giants' new shortstop, ex-Cub Shawon Dunston, made three errors in a game, "nonchalanting" a couple of hoppers, and failed to run out a pop-up. When he took the field the next day, the fans started heckling him as "The Hustler."

GIANTS management had a little party in the back room at Don & Charlie's Saturday night. One of the three hosts was the more-or-less anonymous new majority stockholder, Harmon Burns, a San Mateo moneybagger, who bought out original not- at-all-anonymous partners Don (The Gap) Fisher and Charles Schwab. Manager Dusty Baker gave a pep talk about the team, a talk that would have been a lot peppier if the team hadn't that afternoon lost 14-5 to an Oakland A's split squad that did not include McGwire, Steinbach or Bordick. It was our first look at the Cuban pitcher, Osvaldo Fernandez, who was rammycackled by unknown players whose uniform numbers had more digits than the national debt. "Too many Cubans, not enough cigars," opined Saul Levy, the Mayor of Masonic Avenue. "I threw them every kind of pitch I got," said Osvaldo happily, "and they hit them all!"

THREE DAYS of sitting in the 85-degree sun at the pretty Scottsdale ballpark. The new Giants park at China Basin will be even prettier. "Sure we'll win the election," said a partner, rolling his eyes and adding ominously, "Then what?" (This story is just beginning.) We had our first Polish dog of the season and it rated a 7. It helped that Lech Walesa, currently unemployed, was behind the counter. The games were slow and sloppy because (mantra) "It's only spring training" but yes, I think baseball is back. On the return trip to S. F. on one of Southwest's cattle-call flights, I sat next to a 6-year-old lad named Kenny, who said, "I miss Willie McGee. Now I love Glenallen (Hill)." A baseball fan at 6 is a hopeful sign, even if he hadn't then added, "But my favorite player is Mike Piazza."